In Every Life (A Little Snow Must Fall)
by cosmogirl7481
Summary: Life happens. It passes us by in fleeting moments filled with unexpected encounters. It gives us choices to say and do the right thing. And chances to make it better, even when our choices were wrong. A short holiday story.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own them.**

**But I do own a pink peacoat.**

The bus stop is only four blocks away from my apartment, but right now, that doesn't matter because the busses aren't running, and I have to walk all the way home from the grocery store where I work.

It's snowing.

Again.

And it's not just snow – it's also quiet, but harsh wind that blows fat, constant snowflakes in my eyes. And nothing helps, not even last year's scarf I currently have wrapped around my face. Thankfully, no one is out in this right now, and I'm especially grateful that the store shut down early and it's not completely dark outside.

I shove my gloved hands in the pockets of my peacoat. I wish I was wearing a long coat. Something puffy and thick and filled with what I imagine is down. Although, anything I could afford would never be filled with down. Hell, my pillows aren't even filled with down. They're stuffed with what feels like knobby cotton balls or some kind of foam. But even a foam coat sounds good at this point.

I close my eyes against the wind, only looking up from my feet whenever I hear something approaching. Which – in this weather – is few and far between. Only one car passes me on my walk home. It's awkward when the woman looks at me like I'm crazy for being out in this. And I want to tell her, "Trust me. I'd rather be anywhere other than here." But soon enough, she moves past, and what seems like eleven million years later, I'm turning down the street that leads to my apartment.

I'm so relieved to actually see my door that I don't even feel when my feet slip from beneath me. And then, for just a moment, I don't feel anything. Not the frigid snow against my back, the air that's been knocked from my lungs, or the bump I definitely have on the back of my head from hitting the slick sidewalk.

But I hear him.

It's muddled at first. Mostly because I'm disoriented and still slightly unaware of what's going on. But then everything hits me at once – the burning in my chest, the freezing snow soaking through the clothes against my back, the pounding ache in my head. And my neighbor – at least I think he's my neighbor – standing over me.

His hair's a mess, and he has a beard. Or what looks like might be the start of a beard or maybe he just hasn't shaved in days and days. I don't know why I'm focusing on his might-be-a-beard. Maybe it's because I don't want to focus on his angry, green eyes. I don't know why he would be angry. I'm the one who fell. And it's not like I fell on him. But they're angry just the same. And so are his words.

"Shit like this wouldn't happen if you'd shovel the fucking snow like you're supposed to."

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**I was feeling inspired.**

**Thank to my prereaders - Jaime, Kourt, Laura and Raina. It never ceases to amaze me when you all still read whatever I decide to write. ILY**

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**And to everyone reading - thank you for taking the time to read my words. **

**This will update daily. Probably a couple of times a day actually. See you in the morning.**

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**xo**


	2. Chapter 2

It's not the sound of my alarm clock that wakes me up in the morning. Instead, it's the throbbing in my head from the fall. I roll over, and just for a minute, the room spins. That's probably not a good thing, I realize, and I briefly wonder if maybe I shouldn't have gone to sleep last night. I remember something about not sleeping when you have a concussion. Oh, well. Too late now. I was too tired not to sleep. And honestly, my bed is the warmest place in my apartment, so there was no way I wasn't spending the night under all my blankets.

Besides, I'm awake now, so I guess everything is okay. And even if I do have a concussion, it's not like I can afford to go to the doctor. And there's no way I can walk there.

I take three ibuprofen and a long, hot shower. And other than the occasional swaying dizziness, I'm feeling pretty normal again. I'm happy to have the day off. The original plan was to put up my Christmas tree, but since my head is still just a bit achy, I decide that might have to wait until later. I make a press of coffee instead, and spend the five minutes while it brews thinking about my neighbor.

What an asshole.

No, seriously. What a fucking asshole.

At least he helped me off the ground after he yelled at me for falling. Oh, and for being a crappy neighbor who doesn't shovel snow. Who does that? The yelling, not the shoveling. Maybe he's right. Maybe I should shovel the snow. But it feels like it's been snowing every day for a month. And honestly, when I get home from working every day, the last thing I want to do is spend any more time in the cold…shoveling.

The timer for my press goes off and I pour myself a cup, after which, I'll put on a coat and gloves and go outside to take care of the hateful snow. Which will hopefully appease the even more hateful neighbor. And I do just that, but when I open my front door, the sidewalk in front of my door is clean. Spotless, really. There's not a speck of snow anywhere.

Well, fuck him.

Fuck him for seeing me fall.

Fuck him for yelling at me.

And fuck him for shoveling the snow.

I walk inside and slam the door.

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**Thank you for all the love for the first chapter! The response was wonderful, and I appreciate it so much!**

**Thanks to my prereaders - Jaime, Kourt, Laura and Raina. ILY guys SFM.**

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**See you all later today!**

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**xo**


	3. Chapter 3

I look at the cheap, plastic container filled with cookies on my kitchen table, wondering if this was a bad idea. I tell myself I was planning on baking cookies today anyway. And I wish I had one of those fancy tins with pictures of sleigh bells or snowmen on it, but I don't.

I pull a generic Christmas card from a box leftover from last year, and I sit down at the table and write on the blank page inside.

_Dear Neighbor,_

_I'm sorry I don't know your name, but until yesterday, I'd never even seen you. I'm unsure of what I did to earn your hostility, but I did appreciate you helping me up when I fell. I'm also sorry I didn't shovel the snow. Honestly, I had no idea it was that important to you. Or anyone, for that matter. Thank you for taking the time to do something you so obviously felt was my responsibility just the same. I'm not sure as to why you would even bother. However, I am thankful. Please accept these cookies as a gesture of my gratitude. They're not much, but I did make them from scratch. I hope you'll consider us even, as much as I hope you won't yell at me again._

_Happy Holidays,_

_Bella_

I place them on the step in front of his door, knocking quickly three times before running back inside.

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**Thank you! A million times, thank you! You guys are amazing, and I'm so happy you're enjoying this little story!**

**I know this one was short, so you might see me tonight before bed. :)**

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	4. Chapter 4

I'm on the couch wrapped up in a cheap, fleece blanket I bought at the grocery store on Black Friday. They had a bunch of them in a bin by the registers for ninety-nine cents. This one is a deep green and red tartan, and I don't really know why I bought it, except that it was only a dollar. Well, that and the fact that it looked Christmassy.

There's nothing really on TV aside from this cheesy holiday movie. So, I'm watching it and wondering why my life is nothing like the woman being portrayed. She's single – obviously. And she's also poor. Not that I'm poor. I have a place to live and the extra money to buy small luxuries like ninety-nine cent blankets, of course. But clerking at the grocery store doesn't afford me much of anything else. Not that I'm complaining. Anyway, this woman – this poor woman – well, she's really down on her luck. And of course, there's some quietly heroic man who secretly has more money than God, and he just happens to be hopelessly in love with her. You know, just in time to save Christmas…and her clearly inferior, poverty-stricken life.

Men like that don't exist.

And even if they did, I'm not sure I'd want a man and his money to save me.

I'd like to think I'm capable of saving myself.

Not that I need saving at all.

I think about this as I snuggle deeper under my blanket and quietly drift in and out of sleep. I'm unsure if it's because I'm tired or the possible concussion I have. Although, my head's not really hurting anymore, there's just a dull ache over the bump. I'm sure I'm fine…

A loud bang on my door startles me awake. At least I think it was one bang. It takes a minute for my heart to start beating again, and for me to gather the courage to go over to the door. No one ever knocks on my door. Not that that forceful sound was a knock. It sounded more like a kick…or a punch. And who would want to punch my door?

My neighbor.

I peek through the peephole, but thankfully, no one is there. And when I open the door, my plastic container is on the step with a torn strip of white paper taped to the top. And on it, written in the most precise, handwritten script, are two sentences. Eight words.

_The cookies were good._

_But we're not even._

_._

_._

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**I know I sound like a broken record, but thank you for reading! The feedback has been amazing, and it makes me smile so hard. I'm so happy you're enjoying the neighbors.**

**Jaime, Kourt, Laura and Raina - y'all are the best! And ILY**

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**See you all later today!**

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**xo**


	5. Chapter 5

I lay awake in bed all night thinking about my scary neighbor with his scary beard and angry, green eyes. And his even scarier note.

_But we're not even._

I shiver as I think about the words, and pulling the blankets up higher does nothing to comfort me. What else does he want? I thought the cookies were a nice gesture. Well, nice-ish. I suppose that my card was a little snarky. I don't know why I felt the need to say everything in my mind. Not that I said _everything_. I didn't call him a bullying asshole. Which he obviously is. I didn't curse at him even though he cursed at me. While I was flat on my back and injured.

Dick.

If he thinks he can intimidate me, he's wrong. There are laws against that kind of thing. I think. If not, there should be laws against being an intimidating dick. I should probably google that just to make sure.

At some point, I finally fall asleep – far too late to get any real rest at all. Which sucks because I'm working all day tomorrow.

My dreams are filled with the angriest, impossibly green eyes I've ever seen.

It's just after six when I walk outside the next morning. I'm so busy looking at the dark grey sky and wondering if I should have put on another layer, I don't notice the salt under my feet. I hear the crunch, though. I look down and see that the concrete steps and sidewalk in front of our apartments are covered in little, white pearls. Salt pearls. I only know what they are because we sell them at the store. And I know exactly who did this. The only thing I don't know is why.

Why would he put salt down in front of my apartment?

I sneak a glance over at the window in front of his house. And for a moment – just a split second – I see him peeking through the slit in the middle. But then, he's gone, and it was like it never happened. Like I imagined it or something.

I don't have time to stand here and wonder, though. I have to get to work by seven, and I'm not even sure if the busses are running on schedule. My feet crunch in the days-old snow as I make my way to the main road. But I can't help turning back one last time to look at his window.

He's not there looking out this time.

A part of me is relieved.

And surprisingly, a part of me wishes that he was.

But that part – yeah, that part is stupid.

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**The responses to this little story are making my life! Half of you think he's the Grinch and half of you thinks he's Scrooge! And I just want to say thank you for reading! I appreciate all of you so much!**

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**See you in the morning!**

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	6. Chapter 6

Today has been the longest day.

The threat of snow does that. It brings people out in droves. You know, to buy milk and bread and bottled water. Because apparently, when it snows, people dip their toast in milk and wash it down with Dasani. Which sounds disgusting, to be quite honest. I personally eat chips and cookies that I dip in coffee on snow days.

Every person who's been through my line today has said some version of the same thing. "It's getting ready to pour," or "I can't believe we're getting another snowstorm. It's not like we need another twelve inches." And all I can think about is having to walk home in the snow again. I should have gone back inside and put on that extra layer.

I generally try not to look at the clock while I'm working. I find that it helps the day pass more quickly. But for some reason, during my last hour, I can't stop checking the time every five minutes, equally ready for my workday to be over and dreading the journey home. I'm just finishing up with another order of bread, milk, and water, when I look at the belt and see like twenty boxes of frozen dinners. Now this person, _this person_, is preparing for snow, I think. Well, for snow, or some apocalypse where they only have access to a microwave.

When I look up at my next (and hopefully final) customer, I'm stunned. Well, stunned and kind of nervous. It's my asshole neighbor, who, honestly, looks just as scary and angry in line at the grocery store as he does when he's leaning over my body and yelling at me. I don't know what to say, even though I feel like I should say something…anything. So instead, I just start scanning frozen meals, trying not to think about him eating anything as sad as Salisbury steak.

I'm doing a pretty good job of not making eye contact when I hear him say, "So, this is where you work?"

And before I can stop myself, I respond, "No. I just like to hang out here and bag groceries for free. My real job is much more glamorous."

_God, I'm an idiot._

"Let me guess," he says, stepping up to the counter and pulling out his debit card. "You shovel snow for a living."

His voice sounds like he's saying that with a smile, and I almost laugh, but when I look up at him, there's no smile to be found. Just the same, intense green eyes and his stupid beard. Which is definitely a beard – now that I'm looking – and not just him forgetting to shave for a few days.

"I think we both know that I don't shovel snow. Period."

He looks at me for a long moment. His eyes take me in. All of me, almost like he's seeing me for the first time. I'm suddenly very aware of what I'm wearing. The faded black pants, the sensible shoes that look like something my grandma would have worn, the beige smock that hangs over my chest and makes me look like I have no boobs.

"Look," he says gruffly, "about that…"

"That will be $45.38," I tell him quickly, not wanting to talk about that ever again. "You can swipe your card there. Or I can do it if you like."

"No, I'll do it," he says with an exasperated sigh.

Well, fuck that. And fuck him. He doesn't get to be exasperated when he's the one who yells and shovels and sends threatening notes before putting salt down on my sidewalk. And he certainly doesn't get to be anything like exasperated when he's looking at me in my stupid grocery smock that hides the boobs I actually have underneath it.

"Thank you," I tell him once his transaction is complete. "Have a nice evening."

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**Thank you for reading! Thank you for every tweet, every comment, every message. I'm so happy you seem to be enjoying this. All your thoughts make my day!**

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**See you all later today!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	7. Chapter 7

I'm bundled up from head to toe when I finally walk out of the grocery store.

It's already pouring.

Great.

I shove my hands in my pockets and head for the road. That's when I see him. He's standing beside his car. At least, I think it's his. And it's not even a car, really. It's an SUV or one of those crossover things that yuppies drive.

A couple of things strike me as odd in this moment.

One – he drives a yuppy car and yet nothing about him screams yuppy. Not his beard or his brown corduroys or his blue flannel coat with the shearling collar.

And two – he's standing outside my work in the pouring snow.

"Get in," he says, his voice just as harsh and rough as it has been every time he's spoken to me.

"What?"

"Get in," he repeats. "It's snowing."

"I know it's snowing," I mumble. "I'm not an idiot."

I begin to walk past him, but his voice stops me.

"Get in the car. It's snowing, and we're going to the same place. There's no sense in you walking home in this weather."

His demanding and authoritative tone is really beginning to piss me off.

"I walk home in this weather all the time," I snap. "So, thank you, but if it's all the same, I'd rather walk."

"It's not all the same," he snaps back. "Just…_god_! Just…will you please just get in the car and let me drive you home?"

"I'm not some charity case, okay?" My cheeks are burning hot and cold all at the same time. I don't like this feeling, not even a little bit. "I don't need your salt and your shovel and your car that I'd probably get all muddy and wet anyway."

He walks around the car and opens the passenger door. "I never said you were a charity case. And I know you don't need those things. I didn't need those cookies either, but I still ate them."

I stare at him, standing there in the snow. And I wonder why I'm fighting him on this. Would I say no if someone else offered me a ride in this weather?

Probably not.

"Are you sure?" I ask hesitantly.

"Would I be standing here like an idiot if I wasn't?"

"I don't know…maybe."

The corners of his mouth twist up in an almost-smile. And at that, my retuning smile isn't almost at all.

Once we're inside the car, he turns up the heat.

"Seatbelt," he snaps.

"Okay."

The rest of the drive is silent; the only sounds are the heater and the beat of my heart. It isn't until we turn into the apartment complex a few minutes later that he finally speaks. "I meant what I said."

"Which thing?" I ask, not meaning it to come out the way it does – all harsh and snappy. "I mean…well, you've said a couple of things."

"Your cookies," he says, parking the car and looking over the console at me. "They were good. I…uh…I enjoyed them."

He still makes me nervous, but I can't help feeling happy that he liked the cookies. I mean, they _were _good.

"I'm glad."

I don't wait for him to get out and open my door. And as I quickly head into my apartment, I wonder if he's watching me. I don't turn around to check.

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**Seriously, though...your response is truly making my life! You guys make me want to post every single chapter immediately just so I can know what you're thinking. LOL Thank you so much for reading, and for each of you who take the time to leave a review or comment. It really means so much!**

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**See you in the morning!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	8. Chapter 8

**I tried to update twice yesterday, but FF wasn't being cooperative. They probably had snow to shovel. :) Anyway...here it is.**

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I try not thinking about him as I stand in my kitchen in sock-covered feet and flannel pajamas, looking in my refrigerator as I decide what I'm going to make for dinner.

Nope.

I'm not thinking about the fact that I'm here an hour earlier because I didn't have to walk home. I'm not thinking about the fact that even though I'm still pretty sure he's an asshole, he didn't have to offer me a lift. And I'm definitely not thinking about the way he looked for that split second when he smiled, standing in the snow.

I'm not.

I'm really not.

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It's dark when I step outside in front of our apartments. I'm pretty sure this is the most stupid thing I've ever done. Well, almost. It's not the most stupid thing until I actually raise my hand and knock on his door. Three times, just like before. Only this time, I don't run away. This time, I stand here with the wrapped plate of food warming my hands.

I don't know why I thought this was a good idea.

Actually, I don't think I ever considered this a good idea. I thought this was necessary. I'm not a particularly religious person. But I do believe you get back what you put out in the world. Even though – based on my own life – I have no evidence to support that. But he did shovel the snow. And he did put down the salt that I still feel crunching under my feet. And he did offer to bring me home, so yeah…I made him dinner.

He pulls the door open quickly, harshly. And his expression seems annoyed, like my very presence has ruined his evening. And maybe it has. Maybe I was wrong, and I shouldn't have done this. I don't give him a chance to be mean again, though. Instead, I push the plate out in front of me and say, "Look, I'm obviously bothering you. And you have to believe me when I tell you that wasn't my intention. I just…it's just…I wanted to say thank you. You know…for doing what you did. Because you didn't have to do it at all. You didn't have to do _any_ of it. And I still think you're mean." – _Oh, god, Bella. Just give him the food and shut up, so he'll stop looking at you like you're a lunatic or an alien_. – "What I mean is, I…you're…well, you don't seem like a very nice person. But you did these nice things that I don't really understand. So, I made you dinner. Well, I made _me_ dinner, and I just made some extra because I thought that maybe you would like something to eat that doesn't come from a box. And anyway…that's all."

He stares at me for the longest time, and I wish he would just take the plate, but he doesn't. And oh, god…what if he doesn't even take it? What if he just keeps staring at me like I'm some mental patient who happens to be his neighbor? I swear, if that happens, I might die. I might just expire here on his front step. And then he'll probably be annoyed that he has to deal with my dead body, when all I really wanted was to give him something to eat.

"You're in your pajamas," he barks.

Wait.

"What?" I ask, because I really don't know what else to say. "So?"

"You shouldn't be outside in your pajamas," he continues. "It's fucking snowing, and you're not even wearing a coat."

"I…" I can feel the tears behind my eyes, threatening to overflow and embarrass me further. Well, I refuse to let him treat me like this anymore! I haven't done anything to deserve this kind of behavior. I'd rather walk home in the snow naked and get pneumonia, than be subjected to this anymore. "Just take the stupid food!" I yell. "I don't know what your problem is, and honestly, I don't care. I just wanted to do something nice for you, like I thought you did for me. But I can see that was a huge mistake on my part."

Again, he just stares at me, saying nothing.

Not a single fucking word.

"Just take it!" I shriek, knowing I actually do sound like a crazy person, but I'm just humiliated.

His eyes widen, and he immediately reaches out and takes the plate.

I turn around to go back to my apartment, where I can eat my own probably-cold dinner and pretend this never happened.

"Bella," he calls out. "Wait."

"No," I tell him, my hand on my door, and refusing to turn back around and meet his green eyes.

"What about your plate?"

_My plate?_

_Seriously, my plate?_

"Just…just throw it away. I don't even care."

I open my door and get inside as fast as I can, closing and locking it behind me. I wait for a few seconds, wondering if he'll knock, pissed at myself for thinking (or wanting) him to, but he doesn't. And just a moment later, I hear him slam his

"Enjoy the spaghetti," I mumble.

I'm too angry and embarrassed to enjoy mine.

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**Gah! You all are amazing! Thank you so much for reading! You can't begin to know how much I love that you are enjoying reading it! Thanks to everyone recc'ing it, too. This fandom is amazeballs.**

**Jaime, Kourt, Laura and Raina - I adore you. Your feedback keeps me motivated and writing.**

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**See you all later today!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	9. Chapter 9

When I walk outside the next morning, he's there. Just leaning up against his car, which from the looks of it, is currently running and has had the snow cleared off. I try not to make eye contact with him, which is hard because I'm stupid, and also because he's looking straight at me. I turn around and lock my door instead.

But now that I've done that, I don't know what else to do. I can't just stand here staring at my door and avoiding him, so I turn back around and head to the parking lot.

I can feel him looking at me; his eyes bearing into me feels like a touch against my skin through all the layers I'm wearing. And still, I refuse to look up because all I have to do is close my eyes to remember the humiliation of last night. It stings just as much now as it did then.

"I'm driving you to work," he says calmly. "Get in."

I stop, but I don't look at him. I can't let myself look at him because I know how exactly how that will go. But as I look down at the ground, I hear myself say, "Yeah, that's not happening."

He doesn't respond, so I continue on. I get three steps farther away from him, when I hear him speak again.

"Look, I don't want to argue with you."

"Then maybe you should stop talking to me."

"No..._ahhh_," he practically growls. "This is stupid. It's freezing out here, and I'm offering you a ride to work, so why don't you just save _both_ of us some time and just get in the fucking…" His eyes close, almost like he's in pain, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I didn't mean to curse. I'm-I'm sorry."

I don't quite know how to handle what's happening right now, but I do know that I would still rather walk in the snow naked than ride anywhere with him again.

"How about I save you lots of time by telling you to go back inside? I don't know what kind of game you think you're trying to play with me, but it's not nice. _You're_ not nice. At all. And I'm not getting in your car, so if you don't mind or even if you do…I'm walking to the bus stop, so I can go to work."

I don't look at him again.

Not even after I walk away.

I don't hear the door to his apartment open or close, either.

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**Basically, you guys are amazing. That is all. Well, that, and thank you. Thank you for reading and for making me excited to write fic again. You're all the best. And I adore you.**

**My prereaders kick ass. They just do. Jaime, Kourt, Laura, and Raina...ILY.**

**Marvar keeps me sane while I'm writing. And she also makes my words readable. I couldn't do this without her. And I'm so happy that I haven't had to for all these years.**

**See you in the morning!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	10. Chapter 10

When I turn the corner, I can see the bus pulling away from the stop.

"Fuck," I yell.

I can feel tears pooling in the corners of my eyes, knowing I'm going to be late for work. And this sucks! Everything sucks!

I continue walking, reaching in my bag to pull out my phone so I can call work. I'm not going to be that late, but I'm definitely not going to get there on time. I'm dialing the number when I see a car out of the corner of my eye.

_His car._

He stops, pushing a button to roll the passenger window down. And I stand here, looking at him, not caring that I'm crying. Okay, well, maybe I care a little.

"Just get in and let me take you to work."

"No," I say, realizing how petulant I sound. "I can walk."

"And I can touch my nose with my tongue," he says, putting the car in park. "That doesn't mean I'm going to do it right now."

I'm still thinking about his really, seriously random admission, so I don't refuse right away. You know, because it's weird. And also, because I'm kind of imagining him doing that in my mind. But then I remember everything that happened last night. "No."

"You're being ridiculous."

"And you're being a dick."

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"No," I snap. "Actually, I don't. My mother died when I was twelve, so she got to miss my foray into vulgar language."

At my words, he looks stricken, pale. "God, fuck…" he stammers softly. "I didn't mean…"

"I'm just kidding," I say, feeling guilty about making him feel bad, but mostly because I just said that my mother was dead. When really, she lives somewhere in Florida with a man named Phil who's way too young for her. "But she could be. And you should think about that the next time you want to ask someone you don't know about their parents. Some people don't even _have_ parents, and you could be hurting their feelings by bringing that shit up."

"You're so weird," he says, exasperated. "Why are you so fucking weird?"

"I don't know," I tell him. "Probably for the same reason that you're so fucking mean."

"Please," he says, and it's the first time his voice has been anything other than harsh or short. It's actually soft, quiet. I'm surprised by how much I'm affected by it. "Let me take you to work. You're going to be late."

I bring my thumb up to my mouth and chew on my nail. It's a disgusting habit I revert to whenever I'm nervous, and one I haven't been able escape over the years.

"Okay," I tell him. "But only because I don't want to be late."

When I get in the car, even though I'm anxious, my body can't keep from relaxing because he has the heat on. I place my bag on my lap, gripping it tightly with white knuckles.

"Seatbelt," he snaps.

"I remember," I mumble, pulling it across me.

We drive in silence all the way to the store. It only takes a few minutes, and because he's driving me, I realize I might even be a few minutes early.

"Can you really do that?" I ask, not really thinking about the question, only wanting to fill the awkward silence.

"What?"

"Touch your tongue to your nose?"

"Maybe," he says, his voice quiet again.

He pulls into the parking lot at the store and parks in the same space he was in yesterday.

"Can I see?"

He turns to look at me. His eyes are still impossibly green, but I notice there's no anger there right now. But they're still just as intense. I don't know why I'm looking at his eyes. I should _not_ be looking at his eyes.

"Can I pick you up after work?"

I'm sure he can see the shock and confusion on my face.

"Why do you want to do that?"

"I just…I just do," he says, letting out a long breath. He scrubs his fingers over his beard, scrunching his eyes. I notice these little lines at the corner when he does it, and stupidly, I feel the need to reach across and smooth them out. And I have no reason to be thinking _anything_ like that. "So, can I?"

"Will you show me?" I ask. "The tongue thing?"

He smiles. It's only the second time I've ever seen him smile. And the first time happened so fast, I wondered if I'd imagined it.

"Yes," he says. "If you'll let me pick you up, I'll show you the tongue thing."

I grin.

I don't mean to.

"Okay," I tell him, unbuckling the seatbelt. "I get off at…"

"Five," he interrupts. "You get off at five."

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**So, yeah...y'all have feelings about beardward. Serious business feelings. :) And I freaking love it! Thank you for reading. I know I've said it what feels like a million times, it's just that I mean it. Thank you for every review, comment, tweet and recc. ISTG, each one makes me smile. **

**I am lucky to have the most amazing four women preread for me. Jaime, Kourt, Laura, and Raina. They're the best ever.**

**Marvar is amazing. Even when she's trying to abbreviate words and ends up insulting me. And by insulting me, of course I mean making me laugh so hard I almost pee my pants. She makes every word you read better.**

**See you all later today!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	11. Chapter 11

It's just after five when I walk outside, and a part of me hopes that he doesn't come. Of course, a part of hopes that he does. That part – at least, this is what I tell myself – is the part that doesn't really want to walk home in the cold. Although, that thought makes me feel like I'm taking advantage of him. And I don't want to be that girl. So, I tell myself that it's because I want to see him. Well, not him so much as I want to see him do the tongue thing.

Yes.

That's it.

It's definitely the tongue thing.

I see his car right away. And this time, he's not standing outside waiting for me. He's sitting in the car, but I would be sitting in the car, too, because it's so freaking cold. Nerves flutter in my stomach, and suddenly, I feel like all this might be a bad idea. But he's here, and I did tell him he could drive me home. So, I slowly walk over toward the car.

When he sees me, he hops out and walks around to open the passenger door. I'm not sure why this surprises me so much. Maybe it's because most guys don't do things like that anymore. At least not any of the guys I know. But then again, most guys don't necessarily yell at you when you've just been injured. So, yeah…the fact that he does it makes it more unexpected. He'll probably yell at me in the car to balance things out.

I look up at him before I get in the car. He's wearing a black knit cap pulled down over his ears. His beard looks almost copper against the dark color, and his eyes seem much greener against the deep pink of the top of his cheeks. I've never really found beards attractive. But looking at him right now, all I can think is that's exactly what he is. Attractive. The fact that he's not scowling at me probably helps. I offer him a small smile without saying anything, and he doesn't say anything either. And as I get into the car, I remind myself that I cannot afford to think of him as attractive.

I put my seatbelt on before he gets back in, and also before he can remind me. It's the first thing he notices once he's inside. I only know this because I see him glance over just before he looks down and smiles. What a weirdo.

"How was your day?" he asks.

I'm not quite used to this new, soft tone of voice he's using. It's even more unsettling than when he's snippy and brusque.

I don't like it.

Well, maybe I like it, but it's troubling just the same.

"Fine, umm…" I start, not really wanting to talk to him about my boring day of ringing and bagging groceries. And I don't think he's really interested in knowing that albacore tuna is buy one get one free this week. "What about you?"

"What about me, what?" he asks, almost sounding startled.

"How was your day?"

"Oh, uh…" he says, reaching up to scratch his beard with his left hand. "It was…uh, fine."

"Do you even work?" The question slips out before I can think better of it, and this is why I shouldn't be allowed to talk to people unless I'm asking if they want paper or plastic.

"I work," he snaps.

He doesn't offer anything further, and even though I kinda want to know what he does, I let it go.

"Okay."

"Okay."

He's about to put the car in reverse, but because I'm stupid and don't think about things before I do them, I reach down and grab his hand on top of the gearshift. He jumps. Seriously, he actually, physically jumps and jerks his hand away.

"What was that?"

His reaction startles me, but obviously not more than my touching his hand startled him.

"We have a deal," I say, trying to smile. "You're supposed to show me the tongue thing."

"Seriously?" he asks. "You were really serious about that?"

"Obviously," I tell him. "I've never seen anyone who is able to do that. And to be honest, I'm not entirely sure you weren't lying just so you could get me in your car."

"I wasn't lying."

"Prove it."

And then he does. Without another single word or objection, he just sticks out his tongue, and I watch, fascinated as it actually touches his nose. It's the craziest shit I've ever seen.

"_Sweet Mary Poppins, how long is your tongue_?"

His entire face turns red at my words. Like, the reddest red I've ever seen on skin. But then, he laughs. It's not loud or obnoxious or one of those annoying laughs that take up all the space in a room. No, It's soft, quiet…embarrassed, maybe. And for some reason, that makes me feel guilty, protective of him in a way I don't expect. I know what it feels like to be embarrassed. I mean, it's mostly embarrassing that he feels like he has to come and pick me up from work. So, I quickly tell him, "I think it's cool."

He looks at me again, all long and intense – long enough that I feel like he sees right into me. Like into my mind or my heart or my soul.

"You're a weird girl," he says.

And because I don't have enough wits about me to give him a snappy comeback, I offer him the truth.

"I know."

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**I sound like a broken record. So, just thank you for reading. I legit cannot say it enough.**

**My prereaders make me smile on daily basis. Jaime, Kourt, Laura and Raina - ILY.**

**Marvar is better than your favorite Christmas cookie. She's even better than your favorite Christmas cookie dipped in really good coffee. I love her, too.**

**See you in the morning!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	12. Chapter 12

I'm not even inside my apartment thirty seconds before it strikes me. And before I lose my nerve, I drop my bag on the floor by the door, and walk back outside.

Fuck.

I was hoping I would catch him, but he's already inside.

I knock anyway.

He's probably going to think this makes me even weirder, which is pretty bad considering he already thinks I'm a weird girl. And I am – I wasn't lying when I agreed. But that doesn't mean that I liked that he said it. It comes to mind that maybe this is something we actually have in common – the inability not to say every single fucking thing that pops into our minds. So, that's awesome.

I'm so busy focusing on my stupid train of thought, I forget to be nervous that I'm actually standing at his front door again, and I'm totally unprepared to say something resembling intelligent when he opens it. And that's what leads to, "You know what? I don't even know your name."

He doesn't say anything, and he's looking at me the same way he was looking at me earlier in the car. And in my need to fill the awkward silence again, I continue. "What I mean is, I don't even know your name. And I've been in your car a total of three times already, and that doesn't exactly say anything good about me and my choices. You know, in life. It doesn't exactly say anything good about you and your choices either, but at least you know my name. I don't know anything about you – anything at all, really. You could totally be a…"

I go silent the moment he places two fingers on my lips.

"I'm gonna stop you right there," he says calmly. "Before you say something we'll both regret."

I nod my head slowly, but I can't think about anything other than the feeling of him touching me…my lips. He leaves them there for just a moment more before he drops his hand.

"Why would you think I'd regret it?" I ask, the quiver in my voice noticeable.

"Because I'm pretty sure I could tell where you were going," he says, "and I don't think you were going to say I could be an upstanding citizen."

"Are you?"

"What?"

"An upstanding citizen?"

"I'm not a criminal."

"Well, I guess that's something," I say. "Since you're the one with a shovel and all."

He laughs, if you can call what he does a laugh. It's somewhere between a bark and a gasp, but for the third time, I see him smile.

"What about you?" he asks.

"What _about_ me?"

"Are _you_ a criminal?"

"Yep," I deadpan. "I rob banks in my spare time. The money's good, but the getaway's a bitch, since I don't have a car and all."

"I can see where that would be problematic."

"I manage."

"I'm sure you do."

I realize this is the longest conversation I've ever had with him, and possibly the _strangest _conversation I've ever had with _anyone_.

"If I tell you my name, will it make it easier for you to get in my car in the morning?"

I scowl.

I don't mean to, but it's too late to stop it.

"You should tell me your name because I'm asking," I tell him. "But that doesn't mean I need you to keep taking me to work. It's really unnecessary. I can take the bus…or I can walk. I don't mind. I've been doing it a long time, and I can take care of myself. I prefer it that way, honestly."

He scowls now, his brows forming a vee over his nose. And without saying another word, he turns around and walks back inside. I'm stunned for a minute, but he's left the door open, so I assume he's coming back. Which he does, almost immediately. And when he returns, he's holding my plate in his hand.

"I know you told me to throw this out, but I thought that maybe you didn't really mean that."

"No, I meant it," I say bluntly, but I reach out and take it from him anyway. "I was pissed. But I'm glad you didn't. Thank you."

"You _can_ say thank you," he chides. I only know he's kidding because I'm treated to his fourth smile. "I was beginning to wonder."

"Actually, out of the two of us," I snap, "I'm the _only_ one who knows how to say thank you. I said it in the card I put with your cookies."

"_Was_ that a thank you?" he asks. "It must've gotten lost somewhere in the passive-aggressiveness."

"I didn't mean to be passive-aggressive."

"What did you mean?"

"I…it doesn't matter."

He looks like he wants to press me on the subject, but he doesn't. Maybe he's afraid that it will end in yelling again. Honestly, I'm a little worried about that myself.

"It's cold out here."

"I know," I say. "So, if you could just go ahead and tell me your name, I could go back inside and you could, too."

"What if I make you a deal?"

"What kind of deal?" I ask, unsure of where he's going with this.

"What if I take you to work and pick you up every day…"

Irritation flares bright inside me.

"No," I say quickly. "I already told you how I felt about that."

"You didn't let me finish." He pauses, like he's afraid I'm going to say something else. But I don't. I wait. "What I was going to say is this: What if I drive you to and from work, and in exchange, you make me dinner? That would be fair, right?"

I'm tempted.

For a second, I'm almost tempted.

I'm just about to decline his offer, but he continues, "Think about it. If you decide to make me dinner, I'll take that as a yes. If you don't, we can pretend none of this ever happened. And I promise I won't be waiting on you in the morning."

"I don't…"

His fingers, they're on my mouth again.

"Just think about it."

I nod.

He doesn't pull his fingers away for what feels like a hundred seconds. It's probably only three. But when he does, I tell him one last time, "I still don't know your name."

"It's Edward," he says, walking back inside and closing the door behind him.

.

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**Happy Monday, pretties! Thank you. I know I keep saying it, but I really mean it. Really, really! You're amazing and awesome for taking the time to read.**

**Jaime, Kourt, Laura, and Raina are the best. And they have great boobs and winning personalities. Plus, they make me want to keep writing. **

**Marvar is like the movie, Elf - awesome and sweet and fuckballs hilarious. And also my favorite. I love her more than Buddy loves candy!**

**See you all later today!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	13. Chapter 13

I shake the snow from my hair when I get back inside before plopping down on my couch.

I am _not_ making him dinner.

Again.

Nope. Not doing it.

I mean, I can't really do that, can I?

I'm pretty sure he doesn't even want me to. Not really. He just offered that because he feels bad or something. And he shouldn't even feel bad, to be honest. So, I occasionally have to walk to work. And take public transportation. Millions of people take public transportation every day. Some people even choose to do it because it's better for the environment. I could be one of those people. You know, morally responsible and environmentally conscious. I mean I'm not. Well, I _am_ a morally responsible person, and I _do_ care about the environment. I _totally_ recycle, and I try to turn off the lights in my apartment when I'm not using them.

But I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't choose to drive. You know, if I had a car. Walking isn't really that bad in the spring and summer unless it's raining. But in the snow – especially when it's really cold – yeah, it mostly sucks. But I do it. And I don't complain because there are a lot of people in the world who have to suffer through much worse.

But he_ did_ offer.

And the offer…yeah, it's tempting.

.

.

I feel awkward as I make him a plate of spicy chicken and rice. When I made him the spaghetti last night, it was supposed to be a thank you. And this – well, this feels more like a payment. And if it is, in fact, a payment, maybe I should try to make it… I don't know, fancier. Like with a garnish or something. Although I can't even begin to know how you garnish chicken and rice. Or anything, for that matter.

Whatever.

It's not like he's in his apartment worrying about how he can make my ride to work better.

I wrap his plate, and then put on a coat and hat, because god forbid, I walk next door without sufficient winter gear. It just after seven when I knock on his door. It doesn't take him very long to answer this time, and surprisingly, he doesn't look like I'm interrupting. In fact, I'm quite surprised to see that he looks nervous…sheepish even.

"I didn't think you would actually do it," he says.

"Were you not serious?" I ask, scared that I completely misread him. Although, how could I have misread him? He was very clear. "I mean, I thought you were serious. You sounded like you were, anyway. And I made enough for the both of us. But if you weren't…serious, that is…it's not a big deal. I can just…umm…take this home."

How does he do this?

How does he always make me feel like a goddamn idiot?

"Bella," he says, his voice not snippy at all. "I meant it."

"You did?" I ask. "Because if you didn't…"

"I did," he interrupts. "I just didn't think you would agree. You're kind of stubborn, you know?"

"Well, you're kind of…"

And there he goes with the two fingers, shushing me again. Of course, I don't finish my thought. And come to think of it, it wasn't a particularly nice one. But what _is_ nice? His fingers pressing against my lips. And fuck me, I can't start thinking I like his fingers against my lips. Mostly because it means that he doesn't want me to talk. But also because it's just a spectacularly bad idea.

The touching.

And the liking.

I step back just enough to make his hand drop, and my lips are only tingling from the cold.

"Why do you get to say I'm stubborn?" I ask. "But I don't get to say what you are?"

"You're right," he says. "I shouldn't have said that?"

"Do you really think I'm just some stubborn weirdo?"

"Kind of. But being a stubborn weirdo isn't the worst thing in the world." He smiles, and I ignore the fact that I know it's only the fifth time he's ever done that in my presence.

"What is?"

"Being a stubborn weirdo with no food."

I laugh; it's so loud and unexpected that it startles me.

I'm rewarded with a sixth.

"So, you _do_ want the food."

"I do," he says, reaching out to take the plate.

"It's not fancy or anything," I admit. He should know what to expect after all.

He studies me for a moment, and I know I'm a mess, but at least I'm wearing a coat this time.

"Good," he says. "I've never been into fancy."

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**Basically, you guys make me wish I didn't have to have a real job and I could write for you all the time. Seriously. I love your thoughts as this story unfolds - each one of you make my day. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you...so much!**

**I have no more words to express my love and gratitude for Jaime, Kourt, Laura, and Raina. So, ILY will just have to do because I mean it.**

**Marvar is the most amazing woman. She has a demanding job, an even more demanding family, and yet, she still makes time to read and edit and make my words better. Words are simply not enough. I couldn't do this without her.**

**See you in the morning!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	14. Chapter 14

I curl up under my blanket on the couch, and I'm about to eat while I watch whatever holiday crap the Hallmark channel is showing tonight, when there's a knock at my door. It's not a punch or a kick, so my first assumption isn't that it would be Edward standing at my door, but when I peek out the peep hole, my assumptions are proved wrong.

It's him.

I open the door, and he's standing there with his plate.

"Crap," I tell him. "Is it not good? I make this all the time, and it's not like…I don't know, steak or anything, but it's okay. I mean, I think it's good. But I haven't had any yet – that's what I was doing. Well, I was getting ready to do it…to eat, I mean."

"Calm down," he snaps. "It's fine. Well, I'm sure it's fine. I haven't had any yet either."

"Do you not like chicken and rice?" I ask, still not understanding why he's here. "Does spicy food upset you stomach? Or maybe it causes you to…"

"No," he interrupts, quickly and loudly, his face turning red. "Jesus, do you ever know when to stop talking?"

"Sorry," I say, feeling reprimanded. "Sometimes I just…"

"Sometimes you just what?"

"Oh, did you want me to keep talking now?" I huff. "You need to make up your mind. Talking or not. You can't have it both ways, and honestly, it's not like I can ever tell what you're thinking. I mean, you're like the freaking king of the land of hot and cold."

He looks thoroughly scolded at my words. And fuck, maybe he's right. Maybe I do need to learn to keep my mouth shut on occasion.

"But no," I tell him softly. "Sometimes I don't know when to just shut the fuck up. As you can tell, it's a problem."

"That's not…that's not what I meant," he says. "I want to…well, I _want_ to know what you're thinking. Just maybe not what you're thinking about what spicy food might do to my stomach."

_Oh._

_Oh!_

I'm mortified at his words. The only thing making me feel any better is his own obvious mortification at having to explain what he meant.

"I'm sorry. I really suck at this," I tell him.

"What?"

"Talking to humans in general."

"If it makes you feel any better," he says, and as he speaks, the street light turns on. I'm struck by the sight of him standing here at my door, the snow coming down behind him. "I really suck at it, too."

"That never would have occurred to me," I tell him, smiling.

This earns me his seventh in return.

"I…uh…I was wondering if maybe," he shuffles from side to side and looks down at his boot covered feet. "Well, I was just thinking that…you know, since you took the time to make this and all…"

"Are you asking me if I would like to eat with you?" I ask. I don't know if this is a huge mistake. I mean, I'm pretty sure that's what he was getting at, but I've been seriously wrong where he's concerned before.

He looks up at me, and I wish I knew if his pink cheeks were from the offer or the snow.

"Umm…yeah, I was."

Ignoring the pounding in my chest, and silently deciding to ponder what it really means later, I push the door open further and step to the side.

"You should come in," I tell him. "It's cold out there."

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**I'm not feeling creative enough to tell you anything other than thank you this morning! So, here it is: THANK YOU! I ADORE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!**

**Jaime, Kourt, Laura, and Raina - ILY. Yeah, that's all I have right now. Well, that and this coffee I would share with you if I could.**

**Same thing for Marvar - she knows exactly how I feel about her. (I'm grateful she still loved me when I was writing endless paragraphs about Bella's clothes.) - That seriously happened.**

**See you guys later today!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	15. Chapter 15

Eating dinner with Edward is mostly…well, awkward is the only way to describe it. We sit on the couch – him on one side, me all the way on the other. And we don't really talk much. I think it's because he doesn't really even take time to breathe. He's eating everything on his plate, and I wonder if I should have made more. I'm also not talking because there's the embarrassing fact that I can't stop staring at his mouth while he eats the food that I made him.

And staring at his mouth is a bad idea.

Staring at his mouth is really, really bad idea.

And then it strikes me – Edward, my possibly-still-an-asshole-but-maybe-not-now neighbor, is sitting in my apartment sharing a meal with me. This is actually happening right now in this moment.

He finishes his food way before I do because he ate so fast, or maybe because I didn't use my time appropriately. You know, because of the inappropriate ogling of his mouth. And now I can't eat because he looking at me the same way I was looking at him. Alright, maybe not the exact same way. He's probably not looking at my mouth and lips and occasionally my tongue. But he _is_ looking. Right now, he's looking straight at me.

I drop my fork on my plate. "Was dinner okay?"

"Yeah," he says. "It was great. Uh…are you not hungry or something?"

"Not really," I lie. I really _am_ hungry. I didn't have lunch on my break today because I was too nervous about him picking me up from work.

"I'll eat it if you're not going to."

"Okay," I say, and before I realize what's happening, I'm handing him my plate. I guess I can have a grilled cheese when he leaves. "You really like it, then?"

"It's awesome," he says with a mouth full of food. "Even better than the spaghetti."

"And you liked that, too? The spaghetti?"

It occurs to me that this is the second meal I haven't been able to eat because of him. But this time, I don't care so much. I like seeing someone – well, him – enjoying my cooking.

"Yeah," he says before taking another big bite. He licks his lips and his tongue brushes against his beard. "Do you always do that?"

"What?"

"Stare at people while they're eating."

_Shit._

"I…um…" I stammer, immediately looking down at my lap, embarrassed. "I was just…umm…happy you seem to like it."

He nods, but doesn't say anything else for a long time. Instead, he finishes eating, while I look at everything in my living room except him. I wish I'd turned the TV on. Except that would be as embarrassing as staring at him because he would know that I watch Hallmark Christmas movies.

"It's really cold in here," he snaps.

"Is it?" I say, sneaking a glance at him out of the corner of my eye.

"Yes." His tone is clipped. "How do you even stay warm?"

"I wear sweaters and flannel and I usually…" I stop talking when stands up and walks over to the wall across the room and looks at my thermostat.

"You have the thermostat set too low!" he snaps. "Your heat isn't even on."

"Well, I set it there, so it doesn't kick on all the time and run up the gas bill." The moment I say it, I'm angry and embarrassed that I even had to. "I can turn on the heat if you're cold."

"I'm not talking about me," he says, turning around to look at me. "How do _you_ stay warm?"

"I'm fine," I snap. "I wear layers and use blankets, not that it's any of your business. But I'll be sure to let you know if I ever go to bed with wet hair and end up getting pneumonia."

"That's not funny, Bella." He says my name like he's said it a million times. "You don't really go to bed with wet hair, do you?"

_Is he serious?_

"Why do you even care what the temperature is in _my_ apartment?"

"I…uh…" he stammers.

"I'm sure it's a balmy seventy-five degrees in your apartment," I tell him before he can say anything to insult me further. "Maybe you should head on back over there and put on your board shorts and sunglasses before my pet penguin comes downstairs. He doesn't really like judgmental assholes."

His eyes go wide at my statement. "I wasn't…I didn't…I'm not judging you, Bella." And his voice is so much softer than it was just a moment ago, and even more confusing is the fact that he sounds sincere.

Why does he have to sound so freaking sincere?

"Well, that's what it feels like."

He walks back over and sits down right next to me on the couch. Like, right next to me. And up close he smells like soap, shampoo maybe. It's clean and soft and good.

"You were wrong," he says quietly.

"About what?"

"Before, when you said you weren't good at talking to humans. You were wrong. It's not you at all – it's me. I'm not…I'm the one who's not good at it."

Well, that's new.

I don't know what to say to his admission that kind of feels almost like an apology.

"Do you really think it's too cold in here?"

"Can we pretend I never said that?" he asks. I think for a moment I might get to see his eighth smile, but he doesn't, and I'm glad. I think it would have been a sad one. "It's not what I really meant to say anyway."

"What _did_ you mean to say?"

"I meant to say thank you for dinner. It was the best spicy chicken and rice I've ever had."

I beam.

It's unexpected, and absolutely annoying.

"Is that all?"

"Yeah," he says, his voice still soft. "That's all."

.

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**So, y'all are still amazing, really. Thank you for reading, and for loving these two awkward weirdos. It makes me so happy!**

**My prereaders still kick ass. Jaime, Kourt, Laura, and Raina are the best.**

**And Marvar - Well, you should know she beta'd this at her Christmas party. I don't know if I deserve that kind of devotion and friendship, but I'm so thankful for it.**

**See you in the morning!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	16. Chapter 16

It's dark when – for some reason – I'm startled awake. I'm disoriented because I know I haven't been asleep near long enough for it to be morning. Well, that and the fact that it's really fucking cold. And not like the normal cold, either. It's freezing.

I turn to look at the clock on my nightstand, but I don't see it. And then I scream because there's a pounding on my door. I blindly reach over, feeling for my phone so I can check the time, but before I can actually grab it, the pounding continues. Harder this time.

I get out of bed, cursing the cold, and the only person I know who would be pounding on my door in the middle of the night. And that's the thing, I really don't know why he would be at my door at this ungodly hour. Shouldn't he be sleeping, too? And then there's the fact that this is kind of crazy. Like scary movie crazy, I think as I slowly walk down the stairs, clutching the railing so I don't fall in the dark.

The pounding, it's louder and more obnoxious.

I don't even look through the peephole because I wouldn't be able to see his face anyway. That's smart, I think. That's exactly the kind of dumb thing some dumb girl would do just before a masked serial killer came inside and murdered her.

I open the door, and even in the dark, I can see how hard it's snowing. Well, that and the fact that the frigid wind whips in and straight through the flannel pajamas I'm wearing. And of course, there's Edward.

"The power's out," he snaps. Funny, I can almost see his scowl. Well, not see it so much as picture it in my mind.

He doesn't even wait for me to invite him in. No, he just pushes through, then slams the door behind him.

"Really?" I ask. "I couldn't tell on my precarious trip down the stairs in the dark. What are you doing here?"

"I just told you," he says, as if his reasoning should be obvious. It's not. "The power is out. And it's been out for over an hour."

"And what? You were afraid my being asleep in the dark would be more unsettling than a crazy person knocking down my door at two in the morning? That's logical."

My eyes are finally adjusting to the dark, and I can see his face. Well, I can mostly see the outline and the shadow of his beard against his pale skin.

"No, I was afraid that…" he stops, not finishing his thought. "Shit. I didn't even think about… I didn't mean to… Did I _scare_ you?"

"Umm…kinda," I tell him honestly. "But then I remembered that I only know one person who is crazy enough to do something like this, and I figured you wouldn't kill me. You're not going to kill me, are you?"

"That wasn't the plan."

"Well, that's good, I guess," I tell him, wrapping my arms across my chest, and wishing I'd been able to find my fuzzy robe. "So, what was your genius plan?"

"You're shivering," he snaps.

"It's cold and snowing outside."

"No," he says, reaching inside his coat and pulling something out. Thank god, it's a flashlight. He turns it on and walks over to my couch and grabs the throw. "Here," he says, all but throwing it at me. "It's not just snowing. It's a fucking blizzard. Wrap up in this and put on some shoes."

"Why?"

"Because you're coming over to my house."

The whole world stops at his words. I'm pretty sure that the snow even pauses.

"You're joking, right?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"To be honest, you look like a psychopathic lumberjack. Do you have an axe in the same pocket you kept that flashlight?"

He laughs. It's out of nowhere and simultaneously annoying and…charming.

"You think I look like a lumberjack?"

"_I think you're crazy_," I hiss. "And unless there's something I'm not understanding, your power is out, too. So, if you don't mind, I'll just stay here."

"Yes, my power is out," he says, bending over and standing the flashlight up on the ground beside him. It spreads out, illuminating the whole room. And then he does something I would never have expected in a million years. He reaches across the space between us, grabbing my arms, and rubbing up and down like he's trying to warm me. "But unlike you, my thermostat was set a normal, livable temperature, so it's still pretty warm inside and not…this arctic tundra."

I don't say anything, mostly because he's just insulted me again. But also because he's still touching me, and the warmth feels good. _His hands_ feel good.

"I'm not coming to your place," I tell him.

"Listen," he says gruffly. "You can be pissed at me all night. In fact, I've come to expect nothing less from you. But you will just have to be angry over there. Now is not the time to be stubborn, Bella. It's warmer over there, and we don't know how long it will be before the power comes back on. This storm was unexpected, so it could be a while. Plus, I have a cordless heating pad, so just put on some shoes so we can go."

I can't really do this, _right_?

Even as I think it, I know I'm going to give in.

Stupid, logical, crazy lumberjack.

"You're not the boss of me, you know."

"Trust me," he says, "I'm well aware that between the two of us, I'm definitely not the one in charge."

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**Yep, you guys are still the reason for the permanent smile on my face! Thank you for that. And for reading, of course.**

**Writing is fun because I get to send my words to Jaime, Kourt, Laura, and Raina, and they give me feedback. It's mostly awesome. And I love them a lot.**

**Marvar is amazing. When I text her things like "Severus is taking the unbreakable vow right now." She responds appropriately with sad faces and tears. That is only one of the 9784848493578568498943849 reasons I love her. Oh, and she finds all my mistakes and edits them, so you can read.**

**See you all later today!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	17. Chapter 17

When we walk inside Edward's apartment, I expect it to be dark, but it's not since he has various candles lit around the room. And I begrudgingly think to myself that it actually is much warmer in here than it was in mine. A part of me is relieved and comforted by this, but a part of me was hoping it was just as cold so I could go back home.

Nothing good can come from me being here.

I look around, and I see that his place is a lot like mine. And not just because he has the exact same layout as me, but also because it's minimally furnished. There's a couch and a chair off to the side. And instead of a Christmas tree in the left corner, there's a desk sitting next to a bookcase.

I hear him taking off his boots and shedding his coat. I don't turn around because honestly, I don't know what I'm going to say when I have to look at him. I feel him behind me before he touches me. Well, not me – my blanket. I don't mean to jump at his touch, but I do. I can't help it.

"You need to take this off," he says, pulling it from my shoulders. "It's covered in snow and you're going to get wet….uh, I mean…cold."

"Thanks," I say. "Do you…umm…do you have another one?"

"I have blankets upstairs."

_Upstairs_, I think. _In his bedroom._

Jesus, fuck. I can't go up to his bedroom.

This is clearly another shining example of the sheer lack of intelligence I show when making impulsive decisions.

"Do you think…" I start, forcing myself to turn around and face him, "I mean…would it be okay…if we umm…you know, brought some blankets down here and stayed on the couch?"

"It will be warmer upstairs in the bedroom," he says, no inflection in his tone. "Heat rises."

I can't tell him that _heat_ isn't what I'm worried about rising in his bedroom.

And now, I've gone there. My brain has taken this to _that_ place. And there's no way I'll ever be able to be comfortable because all I'm going to be thinking about while I'm here is what's happening in his corduroy pants.

"But…I mean…" I hedge, "I would be more comfortable down here."

I look in his eyes; I have to force myself to do it. Even though I'm worried now that he'll know exactly what I'm thinking. It's probably written all over my face. And though – even with the candlelight – it's still pretty dark in here, I can tell he's thinking about what I said. And I expect him to just snap at me, or tell me I've lost my fucking mind. But he doesn't. His eyes soften, just around the edges. And thankfully, he nods in agreement.

"I'll be right back," he says. "Make yourself comfortable."

"Okay."

"Okay."

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Edward brings down like seventeen blankets. Okay, well, maybe it's only four. But he also has that heating pad thing, which he basically throws at me.

"Use this," he says. "Put it under the blankets."

I do as I'm told, and in just a few minutes, I'm rewarded with this glorious warmth. I know it's ridiculous to consider something as trivial as a heating pad glorious, but right now, the warmth spreading over my body is better than just about anything. And he gave it to me. Not only that, he also came out in the middle of the night, in the middle of a snowstorm, to get me. To bring me here where it was warmer.

He might not be the nicest person in the world, or in a three-block radius, but what he did… Yeah, what he's doing is possibly the nicest thing I can remember anyone ever doing for me.

"Thank you," I tell him. "This is…" Well, maybe for the first time ever in his presence, I don't have anything snarky to say. "This is really nice."

He takes a seat next to me and covers up with two of the blankets. And I can't stop myself from watching him.

"Are you warm?" he asks.

"I am now."

"Good."

He pulls the blankets up higher around his chin, and suddenly, I feel like the biggest asshole ever.

"Are you warm?"

"I'm fine."

"Fine isn't warm."

"Don't worry about me," he says, almost roughly. "You should try to get some sleep."

He's right; I know he's right.

I also know that there is no logical reason to do what I'm about to do, but nothing about this is logical. Not my decision to come here, not his decision to ask me. So, I pull back my blankets and say, "You know, if we share, both of us could stay warm."

His eyes widen, and I can't miss the look of shock on his face.

"I told you I was fine."

"I know you did," I tell him, nodding. "But earlier, I told you I was fine, and you wouldn't take no for an answer. And now I'm telling you that I would rather you be warm."

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**You know y'all are still the best, but I'm gonna tell you anyway. So, thank you. I'm so happy you're still enjoying these two as much as you do.**

**My prereaders know they're the best, too. But once again, I'm still going to tell them. Jaime, Kourt, Laura, and Raina. ILY. That is all.**

**Marvar should probably flounce me because she has a million more important things to do than beta chapters every day. But I really hope she doesn't because I can't do this without her. And I love her more than I've ever loved Edward. And my love for Edward is what allowed me to find her in the first place.**

**See you in the morning!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	18. Chapter 18

He reluctantly scoots over and pulls my blankets across him, adding the other blankets on top. Initially, I shiver, as the cool air covers me, but then everything settles – the blankets, the weight of his body next to mine, the silence around us. And that's when I realize my heart didn't get the memo. Because it's nearly pounding right out of my chest.

He must notice because he looks over at me and asks, "Are you sure about this?"

"Are you comfortable?" I respond. "Warmer?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'm sure."

We sit like this for a long time – not saying anything or moving even an inch. He's closer than he's ever been, and while that makes me nervous for a million reasons, the solid presence of his body next to mine is a comfort I don't expect. Eventually, my heart and nerves calm down and I take a deep breath.

And Jesus, he really smells good. Edward, all bearded and gruff and covered in flannel doesn't smell like I imagined he would – not that I spend all my time imagining something as ridiculous as how he smells. But it's clean, soft, like the shampoo I smelled earlier on my couch. There are no traces of pine or wood or anything you would expect to find in aftershave. Of course, that's probably because he doesn't shave. And before I can stop myself, I tell him, "You smell good."

"That's…weird."

I feel my face burn. Maybe at my admission or at his response. And since I don't know when to stop, I continue, trying to make this awkward situation better.

"I'm just saying. This could be a lot worse if you…I don't know…didn't shower or something."

Yep.

That obviously made it better.

"You really are a strange girl," he says, while I clutch and release the heating pad in my fist several times, nervous again, agitated. And I don't know why. Well, I do know why, but I don't really want to care that he thinks I'm strange. I _know_ I'm strange. "But I guess you're right. Not about _me_…uh, smelling good. But yeah, I'm glad you showered."

"Thanks?"

He sighs.

Loudly.

"That didn't come out…" He shifts a little, just enough to face me. "I didn't mean… God, how do you do that?"

"How do I do what?"

"Make me…I don't know, feel bad for saying basically the _exact_ same thing you just said three seconds earlier."

One of the candles across the room goes out, causing the room to become just a little darker. But in the low light that is left, I can see the frustration on his face.

"We didn't say the same thing."

"How was what you said and what I said any different?"

"I said you smelled good, _God_!" I snap. I don't mean to; I just do. And I shouldn't. I shouldn't be snapping at him right now when he's the reason that I'm warm. "You said, 'I'm glad you showered.' Like maybe, I don't know…like maybe I don't shower or something."

"What do you want me to say?" he snaps back. "That you smell good? That your hair smells like flowers and your skin smells like the cookies you made me the other night? Because they do. You smell good, okay?"

"Okay."

I look down, hoping he can't see the smile on my face. I feel him looking at me, so I bite my lip hard to make myself stop.

"Are you comfortable?" he asks.

"Yeah. You?"

"I'm fine," he says. "I'm good."

"I'm good, too."

"Do you think you should try to get some sleep? It's pretty bad out there, but I don't know if you think you might have to work tomorrow. Do you think they'll close the store?"

"Maybe," I tell him. "Probably. They did the last time we got a storm like this. I can call in the morning to find out."

"Still," he says, looking down at me. "You should probably get some sleep just in case."

"I…I don't know if I can," In tell him honestly.

I mean, I'm not sure that I can sleep in his house, right next to him. And not because he's practically a stranger, but because he makes me nervous and he's sitting so close. And what if I snore? I mean, no one has ever told me I snore, but honestly, I haven't slept with that many people in my life.

Thankfully, he interrupts my thoughts. "I thought you said you were comfortable."

"I am."

"Then why don't you think you can sleep?" he asks. "It's late."

His eyes, they do something to me when he looks at me the way he's looking at me right now. I always expect him to be rough and hard, but his eyes – they're soft. And it makes me think _he's_ soft. Well, softer than I've given him credit for. And all of it confuses me. It's like I'm scared and hopeful at the same time. But I don't know if I can afford to be hopeful where he's concerned.

But still, I feel it, burning in my belly. And it's warmer than the heating pad.

And then, without a word, he shifts, lifting his arm and wrapping it around my shoulders. He pulls me close – close enough to lay my head on his shoulder.

"Try," he says.

And I do.

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**There are no more words. So, yeah...just thank you for reading.**

**Jaime, Kourt, Laura, and Raina all know how I feel about them. I would write all their names on my notebook, even though that would make me look like a polygamous lesbian. And well, I'm a one cock kind of woman.**

**Marvar is one of my best friends ever in the world. She's the Phoebe to my Joey, the Karen to my Jack. And this fandom wouldn't be the same without her. Nor would my life.**

**See you all later today!**

**Reviews are love!**

**xo**


	19. Chapter 19

I'm not sure when I fell asleep, but I must have because I wake up. It's still dark – there's not even a candle still lit in the room. The only thing that's different is that I'm not in the same place I was when I fell asleep with my head against Edward's shoulder. Now, my head is on his chest – I feel the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath. And we're no longer sitting upright. No, he's lying down, pressed up against the back of the couch with me pulled all the way up against him.

I panic, and in the middle of my panic, I realize about a hundred different things. Like the way my fingers are clutching the hem of his shirt. Like how soft the flannel feels against my cheek. Like the way his arm – _his arms_ – are wrapped completely around me.

Holding me close.

_So close._

_Too close._

And yet, I find that I don't want to move.

I tell myself it's because it's warm here under all these blankets that smell just like him. And that even though the space is cramped, I'm completely comfortable. And I can't help but wonder how we actually go to this place…in this position. This position didn't happen on accident. We didn't randomly end up cuddled together with the covers stretched across us so precisely.

He did this.

He willingly pulled me in his arms and held me close while I slept. While _he_ slept.

He blows out a warm breath that tickles the back of my neck. I know he's awake, but he doesn't make any attempt to move.

Why isn't he moving?

And even more importantly, why aren't I?

_Because you don't want to_, I think. Because everything about this feels so much better than you could have imagined that it would.

"What time is it?" he asks, making me wonder if now is when this strange, little bubble will burst, and he will pull away.

But he doesn't.

"I don't know," I tell him, my voice thick and filled with sleep I never expected. "But it's still dark, so I mean…it has to be early, right?"

"Right," he says.

I'm on pins and needles, wondering when he's going to get up or move away. And I'm dumbfounded by the fact that I care, that I don't want him to, at all.

"Are you okay?" he asks. "You seem tense."

"Yeah," I tell him, silently trying to convince my heart and body to calm the fuck down.

He still seems content to stay exactly where he is, so I try something – something potentially, really stupid. I press myself closer to him. I rub my cheek against his chest. This is it, I think. This is what will finally send him careening back to the reality where we constantly push each other's buttons, and never consider snuggling on a couch.

_And god, this feels good._

This feels so much better than I remember it feeling.

It's been a long time since I've done this. And even then, it never felt quite _this_ good. And then I start to wonder if maybe it's not just the physical act of being held, but maybe it's because _he's_ the one holding me. But that can't be right, can it? I can't want my cantankerous neighbor, who yells at me one minute and is nice to me the next, to hold me.

"My arm fell asleep," he says, his voice low. "I mean, when you drifted off… Well, I tried to stay in the same place. But my arm fell asleep. I uh…I hope you don't mind."

"I don't mind," I tell him, surprised by my honesty as much as my quiet, whisper of a voice.

"You don't?"

"No," I tell him, looking up at him. His beard brushes my cheek and causes a shiver to run all the way down my spine, all the way down to the tips of my toes. "I don't."

His face is right there, and mine is right here.

And even in the dark, I can tell he's thinking the same thing I'm thinking. At least, I think he is. His breathing is heavier, harder. It matches my own. He's nervous just like me. Only I'm not _just_ nervous. I'm warm while there's no power, while snow falls heavy and wet just outside. I feel safe, and oddly protected. Not just from the elements or the chill in my apartment, but from everything outside the small space of his humble couch. And I'm fascinated by the shape of his lips that I can almost make out underneath his facial hair.

I shouldn't be fascinated by his lips.

I shouldn't be fascinated by him at all.

But I am.

I totally freaking am.

I don't know why I expect him to say something, but I do. Maybe my name, or to ask me if I'm sure. But, I realize, that's not like him at all. He's proven himself to be nothing short of demanding and bossy. And this is no different, except that it is.

Except that when he leans in, it's so timid and unsure. And that – that one small sign of insecurity – is the only question he has to ask.

And my answer is yes.

Yes, as his mouth covers mine.

Yes, as we breathe each other in.

Yes, as his beard brushes and tickles my nose, chin, and cheeks.

And _yes_, as I open my mouth, and he opens his, sucking and tasting and lips moving against each other so gently I could cry from the unexpected tenderness of it all. Because that's exactly what kissing Edward is like, I realize.

Tender and unexpected.

And absolutely, take-my-breath-and-thoughts-and-words-away amazing.

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**I'm just gonna leave this here. But not before I tell you thank you – THANK YOU!**

**All the love ever to Jaime, Kourt, Laura, and Raina.**

**As always, Marvar is a beta-goddess-divine. Seriously. I love her.**

**See you in the morning!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	20. Chapter 20

A million things occur to me while I'm kissing Edward; one being that I've never actually kissed a man with a beard before. And even though I expect his facial hair to be scratchy and rough, it's not – it's soft, and it tickles. And he's warm; he's so fucking warm as he pulls me closer. And I let him. Not only do I let him, I want it. A part of me wants to just crawl on top of him and forget about everything and kiss him for a hundred hours.

His tongue slides along my bottom lip, and god, I want to moan, but I can't because now he's sucking that same lip into his mouth, taking, taking, taking. Just as I'm about open up more, to give him better access, the room hums. And then suddenly, the lights come on all around us…and Edward pulls away.

He's come to his senses, now that it's no longer just the two of us in this dark little cocoon we created in the middle of a winter storm. It's reality, and the million things I was thinking about before are replaced with the more-than-a-million reasons that we shouldn't be doing this.

I quickly pull back and jump up, stumbling all over myself as I do. And I let myself look at him – at his confused expression – for just a second. That's all. That's it. Because anything longer than that will make me want to throw myself back on top of him and go back to the plan where we were kissing for hours. You know, like I could actually be the girl who does that.

I'm not that girl.

I never have been.

"Bella, wait," he says, and I hear him stumbling, too, as I reach for my shoes. "What the fuck are you doing?"

At least him cursing at me feels familiar.

Cursing I can deal with.

Kissing, not so much.

I don't look at him as I put my shoes on. Because I don't know what I'll see. And a part of me wants that to remain a mystery – you know, so I can tell myself that what I'm doing is the right thing. Even if I don't exactly know what the right thing is. Because kissing changes everything. Kissing makes what we have between us something entirely different.

"The power's back on," I tell him. "So, I should…umm…I should go back to my place."

"We're not…" he says, walking over and touching my shoulder. Oh god, he can't touch me right now. Not like this. Not all soft and seeking like a question, and nothing at all like a demand. "You don't…we're not gonna talk about what just happened?"

"No," I snap, pulling away. Even though it kills me a little to do it. "It's nothing," I lie. "I mean, it was dark and we were all cuddled up together and I'm sure it didn't mean anything, so it's okay. We're good."

"Yeah, fine," he says, his voice back to the gruff tone it always had before. He hands me my throw that he draped across his staircase banister. "Good. Whatever."

I don't expect his harsh indifference to bother me. But it does. On one hand, I should be relieved. This is better, right? This – this I understand. But on the other hand, I can still remember his soft voice in the dark, the way he basically took care of me. And yeah, I can still smell his shampoo, and feel his beard, and fuck – _fuck me_ – I can still taste his lips.

"Good."

And without another word, I walk out of his apartment, out into the snow and back inside mine, where it might be cold, but it's so much less confusing.

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**I'll just be over here waiting for the fandom to flog and flounce me, NBD. Thank you for reading! The response to their first kiss was amazing.**

**I love my prereaders - Jaime, Kourt, Laura, and Raina. And even after this chapter, they still loved me. **

**Marvar - thank you for the million things you do for me. Editing is only one. You're amazing. And ILYSFM.**

**See you this evening!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	21. Chapter 21

**Well, even though a bunch of you wished it, Bella didn't die or freeze to death in her apartment. And no one punched her in the face because well, that's mostly crazy and mean. Seriously.**

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It only takes about thirty minutes for the heat to finally knock the chill out of the air inside my apartment, and for me to come to the realization that I'm a total asshole. Well, he's an asshole, too. Especially since he was the one who stopped kissing me first and everything. But in the literal light of day – and the lights back on in my apartment – I realize that maybe he still could have _wanted_ to keep kissing me, _but _was just startled by the power coming back on.

That's possible, I think.

Right?

What the fuck do I know?

Nothing, really.

Except this – I need to figure out a way to fix it.

After I call work, and find out the store is closed today, I head upstairs to take a shower. And as I take off my pajamas, I realize that I'm not wearing a bra – that I _wasn't_ wearing a bra the whole time I was with Edward last night. In my defense, he did wake me up in the middle of the night from a dead sleep, and I don't generally wear a bra to bed. But I was with him all night, braless, pressed up against him in his arms, and he never once made me feel uncomfortable about it. In fact, he made me _so_ comfortable I didn't even realize it was an issue.

And he might be an angry asshole sometimes, but I don't know that many other men would have handled themselves in the same way. I'm certain that with other men – men I've dated – there would have been some form of inappropriate groping.

Edward didn't grope.

He held.

And he kept me warm.

And that just brings up a whole bunch of other questions that I really don't have answers for.

Fuck.

As I shower, I try to look at the facts as objectively as possible. Well, as objectively as I can while I'm naked and thinking about him. Which is a first, to be honest. As much as I've thought about him in the days since our first encounter, I've never once thought about him in a sexual context. But all that changed last night. And it changed before the holding and the kissing.

And now that it's changed, I don't know if it can change back.

I mean, do I want it to?

Does he?

And mostly, I'm really confused and pissed because of the way we left things… Well, with the way I left things, I don't know if we can get back to a place where these feelings could potentially be explored. Nor do I even know if these are feelings I should have because I'm honestly unsure if they're even reciprocated.

But he kissed me.

Or did I kiss him?

It was dark, and I was warm, and he was there, just so close and making me feel all these things I've prided myself on not letting a man make me feel. Like, safe and protected…taken care of.

And if I'm being really honest with myself, I have to admit that I've been letting him make me feel this way for some time now. You know, with the shoveling and the salt and the rides to and from work.

So maybe he did kiss me.

Maybe we did, in fact, kiss each other.

But the same fear I felt in his apartment still remains. That he pulled away because he realized what we were doing was a mistake. And there's only one way I'll figure that out.

I'm going to have to ask him.

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It's freezing as I stand out in front of his apartment holding this bag. I don't know if this is a stupid plan, but I've done stupid things where he's concerned before, and so far, nothing tragic has happened. This morning aside.

My heart is pounding as I knock on his door.

And I wonder if he's like me. Does he just know that the only person who would be knocking on his door in the middle of a snowstorm is me? I don't know why, but the thought that he does makes me smile.

And of course, I'm creepy smiling when he opens the door.

Awesome.

"What do you want?" he snaps.

At the harsh tone of his voice and his less than friendly words, I falter. Maybe this was a _huge_ mistake. But fuck that. He's been meaner than this before, and I still baked him cookies. Dick. So, I hold up the paper grocery bag – See? I really am environmentally conscious – and tell him, "I'm making you breakfast. Well, I'm making _us_ breakfast. And I can do it here, or I can do it at my place. But I know you think it's too cold over there. Though, you should know that I did turn the heat up this morning. Either way, it's your choice."

He stares at me and says nothing. And even though my heart is pounding and this whole situation could end with me back in my apartment, alone and confused, I continue, "I don't know if you have a pot…or dishes and silverware, for that matter. Based on your purchase of a hundred frozen dinners at the store the other day, I'm guessing maybe you don't. But that doesn't matter. I have some in here. So, you tell me, Edward. Where are we doing this?"

His green eyes look just a little less angry than before, and it gives me this spark of hope inside my belly that if I'm not careful, could possibly kill me. Or something way less dramatic.

"I guess we're doing it here," he says, pushing the door open wider. "Now get inside. Can't you see it's fucking snowing?"

I step inside, and look up at him. "Stop that," I say. "There's no need to be an asshole. I'm not blind."

I move past him toward the kitchen, and as I walk away, I'm pretty sure I hear him say, "I was beginning to wonder."

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**I would like to, once again, thank everyone for reading and for each review and comment you leave. Writing this story has been a lot of fun for me, and my hope is that reading it will be a lot of fun for you.**

**My prereaders make me happy. Their feedback is important to me. And I would like to thank all of them for all the time they spend helping me post a story for y'all to read.**

**Marvar, thank you for understanding me. And for always giving me sound, reasonable advice. I love you more than you know.**

**See you all in the morning!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	22. Chapter 22

Looking around his kitchen, I realize it was smart of me to bring everything I needed. Because yeah, he doesn't really have anything useful in here that I can see. The stove looks brand new, almost like he's never even used it. And I wonder how any adult can live without actually cooking. However, I notice he does have a coffee pot. Well, not a coffee pot exactly – one of those Keurig things. I've never used one, but I'm sure I could figure it out if I tried.

I turn on the stove and put water from the tap in my pot to boil. He hasn't come in the whole time I've been here. And I wonder if pushing my way inside was really the wrong thing to do. But he did let me in, however begrudgingly. So, I focus on measuring out the oatmeal instead of whatever he's doing in the next room.

A few minutes later, he walks in and sits down at the kitchen table, facing me. I don't know why I'm surprised he has a table in here – especially since he probably eats all of his meals in front of the TV – but he does. It's small and utilitarian and it only has two chairs.

I don't speak first.

But I know he knows I see him because he catches me looking over at him, even though I was trying to be sneaky about it.

Eventually, he relents.

"What are you making?"

"Oatmeal," I say, walking over to get the raisins and walnuts from my bag. Normally, I don't make fancy oatmeal like this, but I had the fruit and nuts for making Christmas cookies.

"I never eat oatmeal."

"Never?"

"No," he says, walking over and looking over my shoulder. I feel my body temperature spike because he's so close, but I don't move an inch, except to continue stirring. "Never. Not even when I was a kid."

"Well, I've never made oatmeal in anyone else's kitchen," I say. "So I guess we're both trying new things today."

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't move away either. He just stands there…watching. And making me nervous. I don't know if he's doing that intentionally. And a part of me wants to snap at him, but before I can decide against that, he says, "It looks gross."

"It does _not_ look gross!" I hiss. "_Oh my god_! What is your freaking problem? Why are you such an…"

"A what?" he snaps back.

And I can't keep from telling him the truth. "An asshole."

"So, telling the truth makes me an asshole?"

"Yes," I tell him, turning around to fully face him. "Sometimes, telling the truth makes you an asshole."

I mean, is he _serious_ with this?

Insecurity and anger sweep through me all over again. And I know this was a mistake – coming here, thinking that maybe something more was going on here than there actually is. I should have known better. Instead of remembering the way it felt when we kissed this morning, I should have remembered him, and his goddamn, angry green eyes the day that he yelled at me when I fell. Because obviously, _that_ is who he really is.

"What?" he says, and it's almost like he thinks this is funny. It's _not_ funny. "I didn't say I wouldn't eat it."

"No, you just said that it looked gross – that the breakfast I came over here to make you looked gross. _Who does that_?"

"I don't know," he says. "Maybe the same kind of person who kissed me this morning, and then jumped away like _I_ was gross…like her fucking lips were on fire or something."

He looks down for just a second, but then looks back up, and straight into my eyes. It's intense and unsettling. _He's_ intense and unsettling, and yet I find that I can't look away, either.

"I – I didn't…that's not," I stammer. "_You pulled away first_!"

"_For just a second_," he says. "You were off the couch and out the door before I could even ask what the fuck was wrong! No," he says, running his hand through his hair. "I _did_ ask you, and you said it wasn't a big deal. Like it was nothing."

I don't know what to do, to say. So I quietly offer him the truth. "It wasn't nothing."

And now I can't look at him because he knows. And also because I'm standing here in his kitchen, with oatmeal that I made for him that he thinks is probably disgusting. It's probably burning, and all of this sucks.

_It sucks._

"What was it?" he asks. "Look at me and tell me. What was it?"

I lift my eyes slowly to his, and I'm pretty sure he's closer than he was before. Like, he stepped in closer to me – close enough to touch. And I shouldn't want to touch him, but I…

"Tell me," he says. "What was it to you?"

"It was crazy," I breathe. "And probably stupid. And we shouldn't have done it, but I…"

"But you what?"

He steps in even closer, and I step back. My back is pressed up against the stove, and I should be nervous, and I am, but not in the way you might think.

"But I wanted it."

"I wanted it, too."

I think he's going to kiss me again – I'm certain of it, actually – but he doesn't. He steps back and says, "We should eat the oatmeal. It would be a shame for it to go to waste. Especially since you made it."

"But what about…"

"Oatmeal first," he interrupts.

"Then what?"

"Then, we'll see," he says. "We have all day."

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**Happy Saturday before Christmas, you guys! If you're anything like me, you're probably shopping and getting ready for the holiday. Well, I'm doing that, and I'm making gingerbread houses with my sister. Thank you for for spending any part of your time during the holiday season reading my words.**

**Jaime, Kourt, Laura, and Raina - welp, I just have to say ILY. That is all.**

**Marvar, you never cease to amaze me with the amazing woman, friend, mother, teacher you are. There aren't enough hot guys pics in the world to compensate for all you do for me. ILY.**

**See you all later!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	23. Chapter 23

I should be too nervous to eat, but I'm not; I'm hungry. And the oatmeal tastes good, feels good and warm and filling. I eat it all until it's gone, until I'm licking and sucking my still brown sugar-sweet spoon and staring down into my empty bowl.

He's staring at me from his chair across the table. Of course, I'm not looking at him, but I can feel it.

"You're right," he says.

And I'm still not sure I want to look at him, if I should look at him. But now he's talking and I kind of have to.

"About what?"

"The oatmeal," he says, dropping his spoon into the bowl with a clang. "It's good."

I smile.

"I told you."

He smiles.

"You also told me I was an asshole," he says, and it makes my stomach clench, and my smile disappears.

"I'm sorry about that, you know?"

"Why?" he asks, but it doesn't feel like he really wants an answer. "You were right. I was being an asshole. But just because I was _being_ an asshole… Well, that doesn't mean I _am_ one."

"What are you, then?"

I don't know what I expect him to say. But it isn't: "This is different."

"What?"

"That I'm talking more than you."

"Do you not like talking?" I ask. Obviously, I assume he doesn't. You know, mostly because up till now –well, until this morning - he's only spoken to me in short bursts of anger and indignant demands that I allow him to help me.

"It's not that I don't like talking," he says. "It's just that I don't generally have a reason to talk to many people. And whenever I'm around you…well, you talk a lot. I mean, like a lot. And that's why I said that this was different."

"I talk a lot when I get nervous," I tell him. "I always have. I don't know when I started doing it, either. But I have this need to fill up the silence with…well, something. Anything. Even when I'm by myself at home, I usually have the TV on, or I listen to music. But yeah…sometimes, when I'm with you…"

"Are you nervous now?" he asks.

I look down, letting my blush answer his question. Instead, I ask, "Why don't you get to talk to many people? Is it because you yell at them, too?"

I grin, hoping he knows I'm joking. Mostly.

"I work from home," he says. "I'm a programmer. And a freelance web designer. Most of my communication is in the form of emails and instant messages."

I think about what he's telling me. And just in so few words, he's answered about a million questions I had about what he does, and how he's been able to be so available to take me to work and pick me up.

"Maybe you should send me an email."

"Maybe I should," he says. "Do you really think I only yell at you?"

I laugh as I trace my finger along the rim of the bowl in front of me.

"Yeah." I look up, only to see his crestfallen face. I don't want to hurt his feelings, but he _did_ ask. "But it's not only the yelling. And really, you only kind of seriously yelled on the first day. Since then, it's been mostly snapping and just being bossy in general."

"Bossy, huh?" he says, a smile forming on his lips.

I narrow my eyes. "Too bossy, honestly."

He stands up, and drags his chair over right beside me. He sits down just before he pulls my hand away from the bowl, and pushes it out of the way. And I'm even more nervous than I was before. Like, how does he do that? Why does this proximity to him make me feel like I've lost the only footing I have in the world?

"I only do that because you make bad decisions," he says. And his voice is soft – too soft for the insult he just delivered.

"First of all, I do not make bad decisions." I huff. "My decisions are all good – amazing, really. I make the best decisions ever. And why do you feel like _my_ decisions, good or bad, are any of your business?"

"_God_," he says. "I didn't say _all_ your decisions were bad."

"Actually, that's _exactly_ what you said," I tell him. "You said, and I quote, '_You make bad decisions_.' I don't go around telling you when you make bad decisions. And you make them all the time. _Seriously_!"

"Is that your best impersonation of me?" he asks, smiling. "It's not very good."

And he shouldn't be smiling because now, I'm pissed. I wasn't pissed before. Before, I was just nervous and hoping that maybe he moved over here to touch me or something. But no…he just moved closer so his unfounded insult could be, I don't know, heard more clearly or something.

Fucker.

"Are you finished?"

"No," he says, still smiling. "Are you?"

"Maybe," I snap. "Maybe I am."

"This is what I'm talking about," he says, reaching over to take my hand. I try to yank it back, but he just holds on tighter and doesn't let go. "I'm already not great at talking to people – to you more than anyone. And sometimes I say things that come out the wrong way. _But Jesus_, you are always ready to just fly off the handle without really listening."

"I don't do that."

"You're doing it now."

Am I? I pause, trying to think about what he's saying.

"You said I make bad decisions," I pout. Mostly because I don't have anything else to say right now.

"I did," he says. "But that's not…well, that's not what I really meant. And if you would just let me try to get a coherent thought out you would know that. Because I could…I don't know…work my way through, until I find the right words."

He's still holding my hand. Well, gripping it. But it doesn't hurt. Actually, it feels really good. His hand is really warm.

"Well, what did you mean when you said I make bad decisions?" I ask.

He turns my hand over in his, his palm stroking my palm. And then, he just slides his fingers between mine. And this – this one little thing – makes me want to die. Like, right here sitting next to him at his kitchen table, while he holds my hand.

"I meant that when you do something, like choosing not to shovel the snow off your sidewalk, the potential is there for you to get hurt. And then you did. You got hurt, and I got angry. Not because you were hurting, but because you didn't do something that could have prevented it. And really, I wasn't even mad at you. I was mad at myself. And if you would just take a minute to think about it, I've been trying really fucking hard to make it up to you ever since."

I choke up a little at what he's just said. It's embarrassing, and I don't mean to. And I expect him to say something, or maybe smile inappropriately. But then I realize that a smile might not be the worst thing ever in the world right now.

So, I offer him one instead.

"You should use your words more," I tell him.

"Maybe you should use yours less."

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**So, I've been drinking and doing Christmassy things. But yeah...drinking. So, I'm gonna keep this short. Thank you! That is all.**

**I love my prereaders. They totally know it.**

**And well, I have always loved Marvar more than Edward or cock. So that's pretty much the most ever.**

**I'll be busy tomorrow. So, I might only get to post one chapter, but we will see how the day goes. **

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	24. Chapter 24

"This is weird," I tell him, as I trace my thumb along the length of his.

"What?"

"I don't know. Just sitting here…holding your hand." Heat floods my face at my admission.

"You don't like it?" he asks, and his voice is laced with the tiniest bit of surprise and concern.

I bring his hand over closer to me, taking it between both of mine and stretching out his fingers. They're long and soft. And as much as I've thought he reminded me of a lumberjack – of some big, scary, bearded man in flannel with a shovel – his hands are really soft. Like, maybe even softer than mine. I try not to think about that.

"I didn't say I didn't like it," I tell him, scratching his palm with my fingernails. He makes this gruff noise in the back of his throat, almost like the sound a dog would make if you were petting him. And I want to do that, I think. I want to pet him. Which is a strange thing to think, honestly. But based on the fact that he's not pulling away in addition to the happy, little growl, I think he might like that, too. "Just that it was weird. But you _did_ say I was a weird girl, so…"

"I didn't mean that," he says.

"It's okay," I tell him. "I don't mind. Well, I only minded a little bit."

"I just mean that…" At his pause, I look up at him. "I just mean that I liked it, you know? I don't mind that you're a little weird."

"Well, I don't mind that you're a little bossy." I grin.

He brings his free hand up and pushes my hair behind my ear. I shiver at his touch. I _always_ shiver at his touch. And then it's even worse when he drops his hand to my neck. "I don't know," he says. "I think you mind that – the bossy thing – just a little."

"Maybe a little," I tell him, squeezing his hand between my head and shoulder because it tickles. "Not enough to storm off in a super dramatic fashion."

"No," he says, laughing. "You only do that when I don't take the food you offer me fast enough." He laughs again, but this time, after a moment, his face falls. So does his voice. "Or after I've just kissed you."

"Yeah," I tell him, wincing.

"Yeah."

We stay like this for a while. He's still touching my neck, and I'm still holding his hand. And both of us are silent. It's awkward. And I don't want it to be awkward. I want us to keep taking small steps toward _actual_ communication, and you know, maybe keep exploring this whole touching each other thing a little.

I mean, I really want to keep touching him.

"I didn't mean to do that," I tell him suddenly. I don't even think about the words, only just enough to blurt them out. "What I mean is…well, obviously, I _meant_ to leave. I just didn't want to. Everything happened really fast, you know. Like, one minute you were kissing me and I was thinking about your tongue and your beard and…I don't know, how good both of them felt in and around my mouth." – _Oh god, I need to learn when to stop_. – "And I liked it," I continue. Because how can I possibly say anything more revealing or embarrassing than what I've already said? "I mean, yeah…I liked kissing you. There. I said it. And I wanted to keep doing it. But then the power came on, and you pulled away. And well, like a fucking spaz, I freaked out because I thought maybe you regretted it. But you should know that's just who I am. I mean, if you want to kiss me again or whatever. Like, if you think that kissing me is something that might happen on a regular basis…"

He pulls his hand from my neck and shushes me again.

I don't even get mad.

I mean, thank god he made me stop. And now I'm panicking, and trying to remember the words that just came from my mouth. Only, there were too many, and I can't.

"Are you finished?" he asks, his fingers still pressed to my lips.

"Yes," I say, breathing out against them.

He lowers his hand to the rest of ours piled up together on the table.

"My tongue felt good inside your mouth?" he asks, his voice low.

"I didn't hate it."

I smile.

We actually smile together.

"And the beard?"

"It tickled," I tell him. "But I liked it."

He leans in closer, closer. So close I have to force myself to remain still.

"And it's something you'd be willing to again?" he asks. "Something you might even enjoy?"

"Well, it is a blizzard outside," I tell him. "And you _did_ say we had all day."

I expect him to smile like me, but he doesn't.

"That's not what I asked you, Bella."

"Yes," I tell him, squeezing both of his hands really fucking hard. "I would like to kiss you again. In fact, I'd like it very much."

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**I hope everyone is have a wonderful weekend before Christmas. I'll be shopping for the rest of the day, so I wanted to get this to you before tonight. Thank you for reading, and flailing, and for embracing these two characters.**

**Jaime, Kourt, Laura, and Raina - I would buy you all the presents in the world if I could. J/S**

**Marvar, I know just how busy you are. And you have no idea how much I appreciate that you take time out of your days for me. You're pretty. And ILY.**

**See you tomorrow!**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo **


	25. Chapter 25

I don't wait for us to move, or for him to kiss me. I lean forward just an inch – maybe even less – and barely touch his lips with mine. Because maybe he was right. Maybe talking less isn't such a bad idea. And it's especially not a bad idea when his hands come up and cup my face. And this, _this_ was definitely missing earlier this morning because the face cupping along with his fingers sliding just into my hair… well, it's almost as amazing as the kiss.

Almost.

Although, I quickly realize that there's so much more to kissing Edward than just the press of our lips, and the pounding of my heart. It's also the way he sucks as he kisses, like he's seeking something deeper, something more. It's almost as if he feels like there's a secret hidden all the way back inside my mouth, and his tongue is trying to find it. And I open up more to let him. Because even though there's no secret that I know of, the way his tongue brushes and strokes mine… I pretty much want as much of that as possible.

And he gives it.

He's really fucking generous.

I think we kiss for an hour…or maybe just several uninterrupted minutes.

I'm not exactly sure when it happens, but the table becomes an obstacle – it's too much space between us. He stands up, but he takes me with him as he goes. And I don't stop him, but I don't let him let me go, either. I'm not ready to stop. I don't know what I am ready to do next, but if it involves his lips leaving mine, I'm totally against it.

Only, that's exactly what he does. He pulls me all the way up against him, and his mouth leaves mine. But before I can protest or complain, he buries his face in my neck. And the combination of his breath, hot and wet against my ear and his beard brushing against my skin, makes me forget that there was anything to complain about.

"This is better," he tells me. "The table was in the way."

"I hate that table," I tell him, laughing. Although, I'm not sure if I'm laughing at my ridiculous words or the fact that his beard is rubbing my neck and making me shiver all over. But the laughing feels good – everything about this feels so fucking good and right and, Jesus… Why haven't we been doing this the whole time?

"You're ticklish," he says.

"No I'm not," I lie, but the words die out as he presses his open mouth against my neck.

It's possible that I moan in a supremely unladylike fashion. And then, I grip his shoulders a whole lot harder than is really necessary. But he doesn't seem to mind, in fact, he just keeps doing what he's doing and driving me crazy in the process.

"I kind of love that you're ticklish," he says, licking me. Like, he _just_ _licked_ me. Well, my neck. And now he's biting down just a little.

_And oh, fuck…._

"I kind of love you like this."

At my words, he stills. It's only for a second, and it takes me a minute to realize what I've just said because of his tongue and teeth and how good this all feels. And seriously, did I just tell him that I love him?

Well, not technically.

But guys are weird about shit like this. And I mean, we only started kissing today – moments ago, really. Unless you count early this morning, which why wouldn't I count that? After all, it was amazing until the lights came back on.

I'm so busy panicking, that I don't even realize he's kissing my neck again. And then, mercifully, my mouth. I can't say stupid shit when my tongue is otherwise occupied. Maybe I panicked too quickly. Maybe he doesn't mind what I said, or it's possible he didn't even hear it because he _was_ busy torturing me with his tongue.

But of course, I'm wrong.

I'm always wrong.

"Like what?" he asks.

"Like what, what?" I know I shouldn't feign ignorance, but I'm mostly mortified that I basically told him I loved him the first real time we kissed. Well, technically the second.

"You said you loved me like this," he says, pulling back, and looking down at me with those goddamn, gorgeous green eyes. And even though they're not angry, they're still filled with fire. "And I was wondering what it is I'm doing that you love." He smiles, just before kissing me quick on the lips. "Because whatever it is, I wanna make sure I keep doing it."

"Oh," I tell him. "_Oh_." Relief floods me. I feel it like a palpable, tangible thing that touches every part of my body and mind. And then I just continue, "Just _this_…you know? This is so much better than…well, everything before this."

"Everything like the yelling?" he asks, smiling.

"Mmm," I hum, kissing him quick, soft. Amazed by how relaxed I am by the fact that he doesn't think I'm some desperate, lonely girl who goes around telling men she loves them at really inappropriate times. "And the bossing me around."

"I thought you said you didn't mind that."

He takes my hand and leads me into his living room, back to the couch where all of this first started in the first place.

"I thought you said you _knew_ I was lying about that."

"I did." He grins. "And I was right. But for all I know, you could be lying right now. Maybe you like the yelling and the bossing more than you're letting on."

"No."

"Maybe."

"Absolutely not."

His hands run up and down my back, before setting on my ass. I mean, _seriously_, his hands are on my ass.

"So, talking is better than yelling?"

"So much better."

"And kissing is better than bossing?"

"Yeah," I tell him, blushing. Maybe from his words or his hands, but probably both.

He sits down and pretty much pulls me down on top of him. It's not vulgar or anything. I mean, I'm not straddling him like a porn star. I'm just in his lap, while we have this ridiculous, wonderful, best-ever-in-the-world conversation. And the best part, aside from sitting on the very handsome man's lap while we have this bizarre conversation, is the fact that nothing about it feels awkward.

"Then maybe I should just keep kissing you."

"Maybe you should."

"All day."

"Until our lips are numb."

His smile is perfect.

"Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"I still hate that I yelled at you, but is it bad that I'm sort of happy you fell and basically gave yourself a concussion?"

His voice makes it sound like a joke, but his eyes tell me that there's a seriousness hidden inside his question.

"I can't lie. The possible concussion sucked," I tell him, leaning in to kiss him gently. "But don't worry. I've been slowly coming to my senses ever since."

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**Well, only one more to go. And it will post tomorrow on Christmas Eve. Thank you for reading, and for loving these two as much as I have. **

**Jaime, Kourt, Laura, and Raina - ILY. A whole lot more than I can express here. But that doesn't stop me from trying.**

**And Marvar is actually the reason y'all get and epi. This was going to be the last one, be she demanded it. You can thank her. **

**See you in tomorrow! I hope you stay safe and warm on this busy day before the holiday. **

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


	26. Chapter 26

**Christmas Eve 2014**

It never ceases to amaze me how people wait until the last minute to shop for groceries. All day, it's been nothing but lines – droves of people coming in to get all the things they need for Christmas dinner. Of course, as I look back to the end of my line, I contritely admit to myself that _I_ am one of those people. Because there, looking at a magazine and pretending not to notice me, is Edward.

I've never been really good at pretending not to notice him.

Well, not for a while anyway.

"Merry Christmas," he says, as I scan the items he put on the belt, checking to make sure he got everything that was on the list. "It's all there. You were very specific. Although, I have no idea what the fuck cream of tartar is. I only know it's not a cream."

I giggle. "No. It's on the spice aisle. Did you not get it? I need it for one of my recipes."

"I did get it," he says. "I had to ask an old lady for help. I think she was scared of me, but she helped me anyway."

"Well, you _are_ scary," I tease.

"How am I scary?"

"The beard makes you scary. Well, that and the whole lumberjack thing you've got going on."

"I thought you liked my beard."

"I _do_ like your beard," I tell him, narrowing my eyes and lowering my voice. "I like it a lot. Especially the way it feels against my neck…and between my…" I don't finish my thought because he's already blushing.

It's been over a year, and I still make him blush.

Basically, I love that.

Basically, I love him.

"You're almost done?" he asks, swiping his card.

"Yeah."

"I'll be waiting for you outside when you're finished."

"Okay," I tell him. "Will you put everything away when we get home? I'll need to shower and change, so I can get out of this stupid smock."

"Actually, I'd love for you to wear nothing but that sexy smock when we get home."

And now I'm the one blushing.

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When I walk downstairs, Edward has already finished with the groceries and is sitting on the couch. The tree is lit in the corner of the living room, and he's just staring at it.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask him, as I drop down on the couch beside him.

He pulls me close, wrapping his arm around me.

"I was hoping you'd be in your smock and nothing else."

"Sorry," I tell him, grinning. "Though, to be honest, I thought you'd appreciate the flannel. You seem to love it on yourself."

"It keeps me warm."

"It keeps me warm, too."

"I can keep you warm," he says, pulling me in for a kiss.

And even after all this time, kissing him is still my favorite thing. Well, except for maybe the sex. But Edward likes to kiss _while_ we have sex, so that's pretty much a win/win situation for me.

"Tell me," I say, pulling back to look at him before rubbing my cheek on his beard and then kissing his neck. "What were you thinking about when I came downstairs?"

"You really wanna know?"

"Well, yes," I tell him, laying my head on his chest. "Unless it's bad. All bad things can wait 'til after Christmas."

"It's not bad."

"Then what is it?" I ask, looking up at him.

"Just that you gave me the best Christmas present in the world."

"Even better than last year?" I ask, grinning.

His eyes soften, and I can see him remembering last Christmas, otherwise known as the first time we had sex. His hand slides up and under my top, cupping my bare breast in his warm hand. And I have to close my eyes, just so I can focus on the way it feels, and not the intense way he's looking at me.

"Well, last year was amazing," he murmurs, brushing his thumb back and forth across my nipple. "But I'm pretty sure that you moving in with me is even better than that."

He pinches, and I moan. I want to smile, but I'm too busy panting against his neck.

"Better than sex?" I ask. "I don't know about that."

"Well, you moving in means that sex…" He lowers his hand away from my breast, and before I can protest, he's cupping something even more intimate. "I'm assuming that sex comes with it. Lots and _lots_ of sex."

I can't help laughing, if that's what you'd call the gasping sound I make.

"So, it's like two presents in one," I tell him, more breathless by the moment. "I'm pretty much the _best_ gift-giver in the world. Is that what you're telling me?"

He chuckles, sliding his hand inside the waistband of my pants.

Seeking me.

Finding me.

Touching me.

"You're just the best," he tells me, kissing me deep and soft, warm and wet. "The best part of my life, Bella. The best…everything."

I kiss him back with all the love and passion and happiness I have inside. And for the millionth time in the last year, I'm so fucking thankful that I never shoveled the damn snow. I wasn't supposed to, and fate knew that.

I pull back, just long enough to look at him in the glowing lights of our little Christmas tree.

_Ours_.

It's ours, together.

And I love that, almost as much as I love him.

"No, Edward. You are."

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**Merry Christmas, beautiful girls! (And guys, if there are any of you reading.) Thank you for sharing this story with me through the holidays. I loved writing these two so much, and it makes me so happy that so many of you enjoyed reading them. I hope your 2014 is filled with as much happiness and love as you can stand.**

**Jaime, Kourt, Laura, and Raina - You all mean the world to me. Thank you for being a part of my crazy fandom experience. ILY.**

**Marvar, you are mostly like my family. And I love you just as much as I love them. Thank you for everything. Seriously, words are not enough.**

**Reviews are love.**

**xo**


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